They continued to walk back and forth, in front of the lines, and, at times, they were accompanied by Colonel Winchester or Warner or Pennington.  The colonel fully shared the sergeant’s anxieties.  The fact that most of the Union army was asleep in the tents alarmed him, and the great fog added to his uneasiness.  It came now in heavy drifts like clouds sweeping down the valley, and he did not know what was in the heart of it.  The pickets had been sent far forward, but the vast moving column of heavy whitish vapor hid everything from their eyes, too, save a circle of a few yards about them.

Toward morning Dick, the colonel and the sergeant stood together, trying to pierce the veil of vapor in front of them.  The colonel did not hesitate to speak his thought to the two.

“I wish that General Sheridan was here,” he said.

“But he’s at Winchester,” said Dick.  “He’ll join us at noon.”

“I wish he was here now, and I wish, too, that this fog would lift, and the day would come.  Hark, what was that?”

“It was a rifle shot, sir,” said the sergeant.

“And there are more,” exclaimed Dick.  “Listen!”

There was a sudden crackle of firing, and in front of them pink dots appeared through the fog.

“Here comes the Southern army!” said Sergeant Whitley.

Out of the fog rose a tremendous swelling cry from thousands of throats, fierce, long-drawn, and full of menace.  It was the rebel yell, and from another point above the rising thunder of cannon and rifles came the same yell in reply, like a signal.  The surprise was complete.  Gordon had hurled himself upon the Union flank and at the same moment Early, according to his plan, drove with all his might at the center.

Dick was horrified, and, for a moment or two, the blood was ice in his veins.

“Back!” cried Colonel Winchester to him and the sergeant, and then after shouting, “Up men!  Up!” he blew long and loud upon his whistle.  All of his men were on their feet in an instant, and they were first to return the Southern fire, but it had little effect upon the torrent that was now pouring down upon them.  Other troops, so rudely aroused from sleep, rushed from their tents, still dazed, and firing wildly in the fog.

Again that terrible yell arose, more distinct than ever with menace and triumph, and so great was the rush of the men in gray that they swept everything before them, their rifles and cannon raking the Union camp with a withering fire.  The Winchesters, despite their quickness to form in proper order, were driven back with the others, and the whole corps, assailed with frightful force on the flank also, was compelled continually to give ground, and to leave long rows of dead and wounded.

“Keep close to me!” shouted Colonel Winchester to his young officers, and then he added to the sergeant, who stood beside him:  “Whitley, you were right!”